


Under a Copper Halo

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [17]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breasts, Clothed Sex, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Pinching, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Hux is not amused by Kylo's performance of a piece of erotic poetry but her feelings on the matter may be a mask for something a little deeper.





	Under a Copper Halo

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a very long sex scene with some terrible poetry and a lot of internal monologue, I guess. Enjoy?
> 
> There is some very rough nipple pinching but I wouldn't really classify it as sadism or masochism on either side. Kylo is just super into as much stimulation as she can get all at once.

"She is the Sun and I am the consumer of Stars. I eat them like fat berries from the bush, warm in the summer air and bursting molten on my tongue -- I eat her and her heat burns me up. I fizzle, I sizzle and crack -- my oscillation wild -- trying to contain her."

Kylo is no sun. She's silver; moony under the blue-pink light on the stage. Her lips, full and red and gory in the glow, nearly touch the microphone. Her teeth are weapons, bright and hard and sharp-edged. The poetry is pretty and overwrought, just like the poet.

The audience sits rapt save for one; the desperate grab at romance lost on who it's intended for. Hux doesn't roll her eyes and it's an accomplishment. She finishes her drink, cheap vodka burning all the way down, crawling in Hux's chest to the rhythm of Kylo's verse.

She needs a cigarette.

Kylo will be unconsolable if she walks out to have one in the middle of her performance. She worked on this piece for months on and off and finally declared it fit for consumption when this particular spot became available. Valentine's, but not quite, so that she couldn't be accused of being victim to consumerist codswallop.

"She is the destroyer of worlds, the Empress shining on her throne under a copper halo -- and I! The Night, her Knight -- at her feet -- driving men beneath her stride."

Hux was forbidden to look at the warped journal Kylo kept within reach at all times, she couldn't say how much longer this would go on for.

Kylo finishes with a deep breath and a steady exhale, her chin tipped up and gaze fixed at some shadowy point on the ceiling. The audience erupts with applause and the banging and clinking of glasses and bottles.

Hux applauds more soberly, watching Kylo drink it in. She bows her head with false modesty. Hux knows it's false because she knows her girl, knows all of her minutae. Kylos bows a little deeper, as if embarrassed and overcome. She clings to the mic stand, her thick hair hiding her face.

She'd chopped it mere hours ago, the hank of her braid still curled on the kitchen floor. It was a ridiculous act of definace, a declaration of agency and autonomy.

Hux had expressed a preference that she not mark up her body any further -- the broad, soft expanses of her flesh. It was already disrupted by the equally ridiculous tattoo wrapped around her thigh -- _Therefore Powerful_ \-- twined with delicate blooms of pansy and violet, stinging thistle hidden in the bouquet.

Kylo straightens up when the applause dies. She spends too long on the stage, makes it awkward. Her stride toward Hux has purpose, light and heavy at once. She throws herself into the empty chair at the sticky little table. She leans in, perched on her elbows, runs a hand through her hair and lets it fall back into infuratingly perfect waves.

"How did you like it?" she asks as if she doesn't know what Hux's answer will be. She waits, softly coy, and lifts Hux's empty glass to her lips, licking off an errant drop. Kylo puts the glass down, her plummy-red lip print smeared on the surface. 

Hux purses her lips, annoyed. Kylo leaves her mark on everything, claims everything. She waits, watching Hux expectantly. Her big eyes are ghostlike in the shitty mood lighting and the shadow of her hair over her brow. She hails the waitress and asks for two more of whatever Hux was drinking. She grimaces around a mouthful of vodka when it comes, too used to rich fare. A little bead of satisfaction rolls along the track of Hux's ribs.

"Well?" Kylo asks again, her irritation at the lack of praise more than evident.

There is someone else on the stage performing their own work. Hux turns her attention there. Kylo edges closer. She downs her drink far too quickly, hisses and coughs into her elbow. She noses her way into the space between Hux's collar and ear, purring right against the warm skin.

"C'mon, tell me what you think."

Hux waits a beat and then turns toward her, noses nearly touching. "You got up there and read a poem about how much you like having your face in my cunt -- what do _you_ think?"

Kylo sits back in her chair. She crosses her arms and pouts. "It wasn't _just_ about that."

They stay through the next performance to avoid the spectacle of getting up and leaving while someone is pouring their heart out on stage. Hux hails the waitress and asks to settle her tab. She smiles when she hands Hux her card back and takes the signed check. She thanks her and leaves them to their quiet feud.

"Let's go," Hux stands while she drinks, keeping an eye on the shuffle of people near the stage. She wants to make an escape while the crowd is still milling around between their tables and the bar and the crampped little bathroom hall.

Kylo shoulders her way into her coat, shoving the excess fabric of her shawl into the roomy sleeves and pulling the bulk of the thick, ratty thing over her head.

"Are you hungry?" Hux asks, swinging her long wool duster over herself.

Kylo shrugs and steps into the threshold of the door. In the sliver of light from outside, her hand on the pushbar holding the heavy door open, she might be Persephone returning reluctantly to Earth to stop the persistent snowfall beyond the shelter of the bar.

Hux doesn't tell her this.

Hux watches the street -- hazy with the old sodium-vapor lamps and the fluffy flakes in the air -- and the app on her phone that tells her who and where their car is. She blinks against the eye-melting brightness of the screen and pretends that she does not want Kylo to stand closer.

Their driver realizes very quickly that they are not interested in conversation, only speaking up to apologize for the untrustworthy road or the slower speed that he must crawl at to avoid spinning out. They insist that it's fine and ignore his presence otherwise.

Hux watches the streets creep by until she can't stand the silence any longer. Kylo's nose is nearly pressed to her phone, the brighness toggled down and her thumbs flying across the screen.

Hux doesn't need to ask who she's texting, it's the group chat -- it's always the group chat -- Kylo's pretentious Lit major friends, all with their tongues too far up dead poets' asses to taste anything else of the world. Kylo is the only one of the lot of them who has had any success. They resent it. It's an unspoken thing among them. Hux is forbidden to comment on it.

When there is a pause in the rapid typing, Hux takes her hand and brushes the knuckles against her lips in a small gesture of truce.

"You could have picked a better metaphor."

"No."

"My literal job is solar imaging analysis."

"And?"

"You called me the Sun."

"That's not what the reference was."

"Kylo, please."

"That's not what it was." She turns toward the window but doesn't take her hand back. Her phone sits in her lap, flashing with notifications that she ignores. "I was trying to... I don't know. Tell you how I _feel._ Be romantic. Something."

She pulls her hand out of Hux's grasp and rests it on Hux's thigh.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you." She looks at Hux with earnest eyes. "You're very hard to read, even if you do think out loud too much."

Her eyes flick toward the driver, who seems to have forgotten his passengers are there. He is hunched over the wheel, peering through the snow as if getting closer to the windshield might help.

Kylo squeezes, her broad hand closing around so much flesh, and runs her fingers closer along the inside seam of Hux's dark jeans.

Hux crosses her legs, effectively moving the hand away. "You never answered me. Are you hungry? Dinner was... disrupted, wasn't it?"

Hux can perfectly picture the satisfied rage on Kylo's face as she stood in the middle of the kitchen with the shears in one hand and her braid in the other. She'd been horrified when she was done, dropping both and abandoning notions of ordering Thai in favor of locking herself in the bathroom to prepare for her performance.

Hux had been too angry to do much more than sit on the couch and wait. Even in the low light Hux can see the blush that floods Kylo's cheeks.

The phone lights up again and she pockets it rather than answer. "No, I'm not really hungry."

The driver pulls up to their destination at last and hesitates. "Will you be able to get in from here, ladies? I'd bring you right up to the front but I think I'll get stuck if I try."

Sure enough when Hux opens her door, the driveway has been thoroughly blocked by the mountain of snow the municipal plow has pushed to the side. "It's fine, thank you."

The driver switches to park and insists on helping, offering his hand first to Hux for balance in stepping over the snowy mess and then waiting while Kylo stretches her long legs over as well.

"Drive safe," Kylo waves as he gets back into the car and Hux taps the five star rating into the application.

The house they walk up to, picking their way carefully up the drive, is Kylo's. Hux couldn't afford this place in her wildest dreams. She feels almost like she's playing make-believe when she pays her half of the utilities.

Hux only lives here and that suits her just fine.

She'd never put either of those ridiculous reproduction portraits up anyway. Wollstonecraft-Shelley and Plath lord over the living room from their oil paint shrine, a silk version of the boquet on Kylo's skin between them in a hideous sconce.

Hux is only staying until an apartment closer to the observatory campus is available. That's the deal. This is a finite arrangement -- they both understood that going in.

Hux wonders for the briefest of moments if the entire saga of the day was far more than Kylo's tempest in a teapot temper getting the best of her.

She shakes her head. She knows her girl.

They tuck their coats into the closet in the little entry and shuffle deeper into the house. Hux sighs and sinks into the overstuffed couch, watching Kylo hesitate in the middle of the room before she throws herself down as well.

Kylo fiddles with the hem of her cropped sweater. She wants to say something, that much is obvious. Hux studiously ignores it, picking up the remote for the television and flipping to the late night news. She still itches for that cigarette, but it's far too cold out to stand on the porch to smoke it.

"You can't tell me what to do with my own damn body, Hux." Kylo finally blurts over the sports report. "I don't belong to you."

There's a hitch in her voice, something like regret. She crosses her arms first and then her legs. Her boot hits the edge of the coffee table and the little odditiy terrarium in the middle wobbles dangerously.

Hux rolls her face toward Kylo, feeling pinned beneath the accusation. She lifts her hand slowly until she can twist her fingers in the closest curl of rough-shorn hair.

"I know."

Hux's heart throbs like she's had too much coffee even though the vodka has made her soft and loose.

"And even if I did... I wouldn't tolerate it." Kylo is headstrong and contradictory.

Hux feels her face flush -- sentiment? Anger? She isn't quite sure.

Kylo turns into Hux's touch, eyes closed, and presses her cheek to the curled fingers. She breathes deep and slow. Hux starts to lean in, mesmerized by the delicate fan of Kylo's lashes. She stops, halted by the abrupt appearance of her dark, dreamy eyes.

"I wouldn't have you if you let me," Hux says. Kylo's smile is a slow, rolling wave across her mouth. "It wasn't... it wasn't that bad. The poem."

Kylo smirks. "I know it wasn't, I wrote the damn thing."

Kylo reaches out and brushes her fingertips over the high point of Hux's cheek. Hux can feel the flakes of cheap mascara sticking and smearing. She grimaces, tolerating a licked thumb and another hard swipe.

"I wish you had a status indicator sometimes. A little light of something."

Hux laughs at the absurdity of it; laughs harder because it's the most sensible thing Kylo has said in the last forty-eight hours. Hux studies her closely for a moment. She has a tiny smudge of lipstick on a canine. Hux wants to lick it off.

"That's not going in the book. That poem."

"No, of course not." Kylo pauses, brow coming together and lips pursing into a little frown. "That's not for them." She makes a vague gesture that Hux takes to mean her editors -- publisher -- readers. "Only us."

"That's why you read it in front of a room full of people."

"Would you have sat still and let me read it otherwise?"

Hux rolls her eyes. Kylo knows her, even if Hux is loathes to admit it. "You could have just given me a written copy, let me see that journal."

"A poem like that needs to be performed, not just read dry off the paper."

"That's bullshit, Kylo. You just like to be the center of attention."

"Would you have ever noticed me if I didn't? Maybe I do; but we're two of a kind even if you won't admit it. I'm just louder about it."

Kylo dips her face closer and lowers her voice to a purr that Hux must listen very closely to understand.

"It's autobiographical -- you're not as smart as I thought you were if you think you're not in there." She leans just a hair closer. "But some things are just for us. And..." She pauses and rolls her eyes. "A few dozen people in a bar."

"You're insufferable."

"You like the challenge."

Kylo closes the scant distance between them, pausing just for a moment -- waiting for confirmation with her big, soft hand hovering at the curve of Hux's neck and shoulder. Hux tilts her chin down, lets her bare lips brush the creamy surface of Kylo's. Kylo's hand creeps up, cups Hux's skull so she can't pull away as Kylo shifts on the couch.

By some gentle acrobatics Kylo is in Hux's lap, holding her head with both hands and continuing to kiss her. Hux surrenders to it. She drinks in the warmth and the weight, relishing the feel of Kylo's soft curves pressed up against her.

Hux touches her thighs, held taut inside her jeans, no give in the fabric. It's a marvel she gets into them, can move in them. There's the firm fabric -- the soft bulk -- the strong muscle beneath. Hux gasps, breath taken away when Kylo pulls back. Hux chases her unconsciously, mouth open and wanting.

"If I stop for a minute, will that light stay green?" Hux nods, confused but willing to follow along. "Good. Stay there."

Kylo slides back, rubbing herself lewdly against Hux's knee before she stands, eyes closed and lip crushed between her teeth. She stands and stretches, bumping the table and making the terrarium rattle again.

"Close your eyes like a good girl."

Kylo pats her cheek indulgently and heat flares in Hux's chest, mild rage fizzling just as quickly as it ignited. Hux watches her go. She crosses the room and the stairs creak softly under her weight. A moment later there is the _clonk!_ of one-two boots on the floor from the vague direction of her bedroom. The seconds stretch and the news turns over into the first of the late night talk shows with a blast of fanfare and a blinding opening scroll. The ceiling squeaks and the stairs shift.

"Close your damn eyes, Hux."

"They're closed," Hux calls. "I dont know why that's necessary."

What? Is she coming down in the nude? Hux has seen all her underwear, too. Its not like there's anything to surprise with. The stairs shift again with Kylo's descent.

"Hux close your fucking eyes I can feel you still looking."

"No you can't."

"You just confirmed it. Close 'em."

"This is stupid."

"Humor me."

Hux sighs, put out, and crosses her arms. Kylo resumes her journey down the stairs and back to the living room. It gets dark behind Hux's lids with Kylo blocking the light of the TV. Hux grunts, Kylo dropping abruptly back down into her lap. She's still clothed. It doesn't feel like she's added anything, either.

"You're fucking heavy." Hux mutters. "You're not a housecat."

Kylo laughs and seizes Hux's chin in one hand. Her face comes close, breath hot, and she runs her wet tongue from her fingers to Hux's ear.

Hux shivers, "I swear you were raised by animals, though."

Kylo stays close, her breathing heavy like it gets when she's taking care of herself. She isn't -- one hand on Hux's face and the other no where between them. Her voice is low, nearly a growl.

"She is the Sun and I am the consumer of Stars."

Kylo leans back and releases Hux and suddenly, something heavy is on Hux's head. A headband? A large one -- something. Hux opens her eyes when Kylo is finished with whatever the hell she is doing.

"What -- "

Kylo's hand lands across Hux's eyes, soft pressure and command. She nuzzles against Hux's cheek and continues.

"I eat them like fat berries from the bush, warm in the summer air and bursting molten on my tongue -- I eat her and her heat burns me up."

The other hand presses flat against Hux's stomach between them. She kisses Hux hard, far too much tongue. She rests her forehead against her knuckles against Hux.

"She is the destroyer of worlds, the Empress shining on her throne under a copper halo -- and I! The Night, her Knight -- at her feet."

"Fuck," Hux whispers.

"She is blinding bright. Her flame-fingers scorch my skin. She marks me, makes me hers -- but I am a clever thief -- "

Kylo gasps, startled by Hux's abrupt movement. Hands on her face, fingers curling around one ear, Hux moves her away.

"Let me see," Hux pants.

Slowly, Kylo gives her back her vision. Hux touches the thing on her head carefully, wary. There are spikes as long as her hand, a neat arc over the crown of her head. Shorter ones, varying, make up a second row in front.

"What the hell is this?" Embarrassment flushes Hux's cheeks.

Kylo shrugs. "I had some of my advance left after I finished redoing the bathroom. I thought I'd have some fun." Hux opens her mouth to object. "The Empress already has her _throne_ ," Kylo's tongue peeks out between her lips for just a moment. "She needed a crown to wear while she sits on it."

Her mouth curls into a smile. Backlit by the television her features fall into velvety shadow. Her lipstick is smudged, making the alluring asymmetry of her face more pronounced. Her heavy brow furrows and she dips her chin coyly.

Persephone is back again. Not a bringer of light and hope and Spring, but the strict ruler of the Underworld, pomegranates staining her mouth.

"Do you want me to stop?" Kylo asks, voice warm and sincere. Her hands cup Hux's face same as Hux's holds hers.

"No."

Kylo mumbles dark things, tongue turning over sweat and flesh in perverse reverence, while she opens the buttons of Hux's blouse -- slips the suspenders from her shoulders -- tugs up on the hem until its free of her waistband.

Her palm rests against Hux's sternum, thumb tracing the modest swell of Hux's small breast and slipping over the buttery silk of her camisole.

In Kylo's poetry she is the Sun exploding and Kylo is stealing the hot, searing tendrils of hydrogen flame -- bathing in the molten iron -- breathing in neon and carbon and -- the Sun is a Black Hole, spinning and grabbing with greedy arms -- forming galaxies anew.

The stanzas are punctuated with kisses -- bites -- sucking -- licking. Huxs throat will be just as riotous as a new galaxy before the morning, she's convinced.

Kylo's hands never still. She strokes and massages, pressing and rubbing. She counts Hux's ribs with hard strokes of her knuckles. She traces the framework of her collar, her shoulders, the hard plate of her chest. She twists Hux's nipples between nimble fingertips -- pinches them until they are hard enough she feels it in her cunt.

Hux is hot in all the ways she can be. She shifts her knees under Kylo's weight, trying to make space so she might fit a hand between them.

Hux presses her fist between Kylo's legs, rubbing her knuckles against the seam of her pants. Kylo falters, mewling softly, hands finally pausing, palms flat and crushing against Hux's breast. She breathes in deep, her hips jerking in shallow thrusts, riding Hux's fist almost hesitantly. She gasps, shuddering and whining, when Hux denies her.

Hux fumbles at the button and fly, finally sinking her fingers into the heat hidden behind -- smooth mesh against her palm and untamed hair coarse-soft against the back. She scratches carefully shaped nails through the curls.

Kylo sucks her belly in, attention entirely directed below her navel. She bites her lips, breathes through her teeth.

Hux's fingers sink down as much as the tight jeans and spread legs will allow, tips teasing between warm folds, nails grazing the tip of her clit -- no room to deny the fact of Kylo's arousal.

Kylo shudders and circles Hux's wrist gently, lifting her hand up and away. With unwavering gaze she brings Hux's fingers to her lips and licks them. She sucks them tenderly, breathing heavily from her nose. Kylo places the spit-wet fingers against the sliver of skin between her waistband and the hem of her thick, cropped sweater.

"Touch them," she whispers.

Hux shoves her hands up under the sweater, she doesn't need to be told twice. Kylo's tits are a thing of wonder. Weighty and soft, just barely pulled by gravity. Pale like the rest of her, silvery veins of lightning just disappearing under her arms. Full like ripe fruit and just as sweet.

If Hux was the writer between them she'd put verse to paper about the faint trace of circulation just under the skin, the blush-pink nipples and how they get dark with pleasure.

Sometimes the best part of traping Kylo beneath her, holding Kylo between her thighs, is the perfect access to her lovely breasts.

Her bra is some fancy, insubstantial thing. Knowing Kylo and feeling the smooth mesh, it's a matched set. Hux feels the sturdy wire and the firm elastic band, she fingers the edge of the fabric cups and watches Kylo watching her.

Hux wants to push up the sweater, to get her mouth on Kylo, but it's too easy. The bra is something like a halter, a teardrop cut out of the middle. She rolls the mesh aside, spilling warm flesh into her palms.

Kylo's hands flutter. They stutter toward her open fly and then back to Hux, settling on her hips. She squeezes, tightening the long cords of her thighs on either side of Hux's and clenching the muscles of her backside. 

Kylo leans into Hux's touch, curling her shoulders forward as if to put as much of her flesh into Hux's hands as she can. She watches Hux work beneath her sweater, lips parted.

Hux kneads. She rubs. She clutches and grips. She strokes, fingers feather-light and gentle. She swipes circles over Kylo's lovely nipples, feeling them get hard beneath her thumbs. Hux moves to twist, to squeeze, and she cannot stand not seeing.

Together, equally clumsy, they yank Kylo's sweater over her head and it pools around one elbow.

Kylo's cheeks darken. The tips of her ears, just visible in her thick wave of hair, are red to a nearly concerning degree.

Feeling manic, heart fluttering, Hux turns diligent attention back to Kylo's tits. Her chest is flushed in splotches that are quickly spreading and joining. Her nipples erect, they and the pretty pink-brown skin around them flush a shade darker than usual.

Hux takes one and then the other between her thumbs and the side of her forefingers. Kylo's eyes are bright and excited. Hux pinches severely, marveling over the flesh between her fingers as it glows berry-dark.

Kylo hisses and hiccups. She presses her lips together, face scrunched with endurance. Hux releases her grip and the flesh flashes bright white for half a heartbeat before it fills out in strawberry pink again.

Kylo moans openly, her grip on Hux's waist crushing. Hux lets her breathe for a moment then pinches again. She nearly shouts, Hux smothering the sound with her mouth before Kylo pulls away, panting. Hux persists, letting up for just a second to relax her fingers and pinches again.

Kylo shakes, head thrown back. The vein in her throat jumps double-time. Hux pinches again -- more pressure, almost afraid she's being too cruel. Kylo bows her head forward, nearly knocking Hux's, her shoulders hunched like a cliche couture ad. She whines, wanton and wet sounding.

A hand releases Hux's waist. Kylo shoves it desperately into her open fly. She gasps, drawing in a halting, shaky breath.

Hux knows what she's doing. Hux knows her girl. Knows what she likes. Knows how she plays: Kylo's fingers are driven through her hair -- buried into the wet heat of her vulva -- index and middle dive into her slit, seeking -- she clenches -- pinches at the body of her clit just as hard as Hux is pinching.

She takes a heaving breath like she's going for a deep swim and jerks her hips -- sharp and fast -- riding her hand with her wist at a painful looking bend.

Hux knows what is happening: Kylo's knuckles press in with each jerk of her hips, pressing the legs of her nerves. The firm muscle between the heart and head lines of her palm strokes at the head of her clit, setting her senses alight.

Hux relaxes her fingers and Kylo moans openly again. "Don't -- " she hiccups, "Don't stop."

Hux pinches again, twisting minutely. Her legs are half-numb with Kylo's weight and movement. Her toes tingle, nerves on fire. Kylo is breathing like she's been sobbing for hours and has run out of steam, dry-heaving gulps all she has left to give.

Kylo's calves tense. Hux can feel it alongside her thighs where her shins brace the couch cusions. Her toes point, feet flexing. She'll be complaining about a charliehorse the rest of the night. She shouts, right in Hux's face, long and drawn out. The hand on Hux's waist grabs hard, fingers curling in.

Hux will have a row of nasty looking welts. It will remind her of this for the next few days, rubbing under her clothing, burning and tender in the shower. Kylo doesn't do it on purpose, Hux knows this. She probably doesn't even realize what she's doing. She'll be shocked and apologetic later on. She knows Hux does not like to be marked in ways that will draw her attention when she allows her body to be marked at all.

Kylo's shoulders tremble and her hips tip awkwardly, the hand in her cunt rubbing as quick as the constriction of her jeans will allow. She finally freezes, face screwed up in silent distress. She tips forward planting her wet mouth against Hux's bared collar. She twitches hard and Hux tightens her grip just by fractions, fingers white with the effort.

She lets go abruptly and Kylo chokes out a wet little burble. Her body twitches hard once more and she sags, making a sound somehwere between a wheeze and a giggle.

"But I am to serve my Sun," Kylo whispers, picking a stanza from somwhere in the middle. "And she nourishes in return."

"I'm not finished," Hux mumbles, brushing her lips across the top of Kylo's head. "Sit up."

Kylo does, swaying gently. She hisses when Hux touches her breasts again, far too tender for more but she won't complain. Hux knows her girl. She likes stimulation. The more, the better -- soft, hard, painful, tight, gentle, tickly, warm, cold -- she wants as much as Hux can give.

Hux touches her tenderly, reverently. Her nipples are soft again, less prominent, like they're as exhausted as the rest of her looks. They're too flushed, too red. Hux is worried she's gone just a touch too far. Her fingers crack as she flexes them, holding Kylo in some attempt at comfort.

Kylo grunts, tipping her hips back to release some of the tension on the front of her jeans to get her hand out. She offers it to Hux, fingers webbed with clear fluid. Hux frowns and she takes it back, unoffended, and licks her palm and fingers clean.

"You're _are_ like a giant fucking cat," Hux teases. "I take it back."

Kylo is sighing contentedly, eyes closed like she's enjoying the taste of herself, her tongue and lips glossy with it. She takes a deep breath, leaning into Hux's touch.

She's soft like this, moreso after she's been finished off than she ever is otherwise. Her spine curves, posture poor, creating little rolls in her belly. Hux can't decide where she wants to put her mouth.

Kylo reaches out with her spit-sticky hand and touches Hux's face. She brushes strands of hair away that Hux isn't sure were actually there. Her hand falls haphazardly, fingers catching the neck of Hux's camisole and settling at her waistband, tugging on it.

Hux sucks her stomach in, moving away. "I said I wasn't finished, baby." Hux feels her own voice like a living thing, rumbling in the back of her throat.

Kylo laughs when Hux leans in, rubbing her cheek against Kylo's warm breast. Hux feels her _Sun Empress_ adornment tumble, knocked by Kylo's chin over her head to slide down the plane of her back. Hux ignores it, smearing soft kisses along the line of a silvery stretch mark. Kylo picks the crown up from where it is wedged between Hux and the couch and places it out of the way.

Hux opens her mouth, luxuriating in the weight of Kylo's flesh against her tongue. She bites, soft and sweet, just grazing with the surface of her teeth. She sucks just hard enough on the full curve to raise little red dots and moves on to the exhausted nipple. She closes her mouth over it and sucks, laving wetly with her tongue and lifting her chin before she pulls off.

Kylo strokes her hair almost sweetly as she works, laughing and pinching her own nipple when Hux is done and settled back against the couch. "You're just going to leave the other one? Doesn't seem very fair."

Hux snorts. She feels warm and full, the sensation rising from the put of her stomach into her chest. Heartburn -- but nice. She leans forward and plants a single, chaste peck of a kiss against the rosy, ignored nipple.

"Well that's certainly sufficient," Kylo teases.

Hux grins and rubs a hand against Kylo's sternum almost absently, feels the tick of her heart. The warmth in Hux's core tickles up the back of her throat and into her nose, behind her eyes. She shakes her head.

This is convenient.

Nothing more.

"Please tell me you didn't spend the whole of your leftover advance on that," she says and gestures to the headpiece on the cusion beside her.

Kylo takes her remaining sweater sleeve from her arm and tosses it aside. "No, I didn't. I can show you the Etsy receipt if you want," she laughs.

Kylo holds Hux's face in her hands. She scrutinizes, head cocked and curious like some great corvid come to roost. Hux feels pinned -- _seen_. She doesn't like it.

Kylo grow eyes wide with surprise and mouth falls agape when Hux seizes her waist. She tips her hips, leveraging Kylo over her lap with a firm push of her knee, and spills her onto the couch. Kylo gasps again, hurriedly shoving her gift out of the way lest she be impaled on the taller bronze-tone spikes. She moves with Hux, the pair of them squirming and shifting until their position is reversed.

Hux's hair hangs forward looking down at Kylo. It's gone greasy from touching and the thick air at the bar.

"And she is the summer sky at noon," Kylo mumbles, making up new verses now. "We are an eclipse -- a secret cataclysm."

Her hands are hot, slipping easily over Hux's stomach on the silky camisole. She squeezes gently, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Will you take this off?" Kylo asks.

Hux takes her open blouse off, dropping it without a care. She hesitates for a moment, fingering the hem of the camisole. Kylo's face is bright with anticipation.

Hux isn't entirely sure she wants to be touched, to be eaten alive the way Kylo is prone to. There is too much fog in her head. Too much pretentious poetry. The crown perched on the arm of the couch is like a magnet, pulling her attention and making her nervous. It's a trinket, a silly thing bought from a crafter online.

But somehow it's probably more, just like the poem is more than just an ode to Hux's cunt.

"You don't have to." Kylo says gently, circling Hux's waist with her solid arms.

Hux kisses her soundly and leans back in her arms, letting Kylo support her. She picks up the hem of the camisole and pulls it over her head, dropping it too. Her hair is stuck to her face, tangled in her lashes. Kylo shifts, cradling Hux's weight in one arm, and makes a grab for the crown.

"I think that should stay on, don't you?"

Hux doesn't, not at all. She stays Kylo's hand, guides it back to her waist. She levers herself up in offering. Kylo sighs and holds her close, rests her chin on Hux's chest and looks up at her with wide eyes and faux innocence. She grins and peppers lipstick swatch kisses across Hux's skin. She pauses, opening her mouth against Hux's breast. She sucks softly at one and then the other, thick fingers brushing Hux's nipples just how she likes -- short, fast little flicks that bring them to tight, peachy peaks.

"Mm," Kylo purrs, "These are nice. Next poem will be about them."

Hux looks down at herself and the berry stain smears of Kylo's lips on her skin. She wonders if her mouth looks the same and rises on her knees. Kylo cranes her neck back to look up at her with a hungry sparkle. She presses her face to the fly of Hux's jeans and breathes in deep.

"And I eat them like summer warmed berries from the bush." Hux snorts. Kylo's gotten her own poetry wrong. Everything about the last several hours has been absurd -- why not continue?

She pops the button open and Kylo takes the cue as she hoped. The zipper slides silently and Hux holds Kylo's shoulders like a lifeline. Kylo rubs her nose into the open fly, sliding against soft, grey cotton.

"She drapes herself in stormclouds, and -- " Kylo crinkles her nose, dissatisfied with the new verse she's made up in the moment. She strokes her hands over Hux's thighs and hooks her fingers into the waist of her jeans. Her nails graze Hux's skin as she digs for the elastic as well.

"Mm?" Kylo makes a questioning sound and Hux nods casually, feeling anything but.

Kylo pulls, yanking the jeans and underwear down as far as she can, shimmying them for scant extra millimeters in the middle of Hux's thighs. She holds on and leans in, dragging the tip of her nose against the curve of Hux's mound, ruffling close-cropped copper hair. Kylo presses a sweet little kiss just at the apex of her slit.

Hux reaches behind to take Kylo's hand from her thigh. She gets a shock of cold when she moves it, so much covered by it now not. She guides Kylo's hand up.

"You want me to?" Kylo asks, voice deep and thick, syrupy in her chest. "My hands?"

"Yes."

It's awakward for a moment, Kylo reaching as she is, the angle of her elbow not really right like this. Hux freezes, stomach clenching, feeling Kylo's fingertips brushing against her, Kylo's fat thumb dipping past and sliding through warmth and wet.

Kylo squirms, shimmying down to get her lips against Hux, tongue sneaking out dainty and kittenish to get between her folds.

Hux clings, body bent over Kylo like she's braced against a storm. She can feel Kylo's breathing. Its heavy and damp against her skin.

Kylo leans away abruptly, pushing back against the couch. Her face screws up and she turns, sneezing out loud.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "You're tickly."

Hux wheezes a short laugh, building tension broken.

"Let me -- let me sit," she breathes, and does so with a little clumsy effort. Kylo adjusts her feet and squares up her knees to support Hux's weight. "I want you to really touch me," Hux says, a little more confident at eye level.

She takes Kylo's hand and pushes it between her legs. It's difficult with her thighs trapped in her waistband still, jeans and underwear bunched together, flesh straining against the fabric while she tries to spread them more.

Hux guides Kylos fingers, dragging them against her, pushing them closer to the heat of her core. She pushes two of them against her hole, sinks them into her cunt with little effort, aroused and easy. She twitches her hips, trying to subtly shift and arrange her body around Kylo's hand.

When Hux finally looks up, Kylo's face is full -- bright with surprise and a heavy shadow of need falling across her brow. Hux touches her lips, pushing two fingers past -- dragging them against the hazy remnants of her long-ruined lipstick -- for Kylo to wet.

Kylo is nothing if not thorough. Hux's fingers are almost too wet as she takes them back, a thick strand of saliva connecting them to Kylo's mouth. It snaps, falling against her chin, and she's completely unbothered. Hux cringes. She's not put off, not disgusted. She's baffled by Kylo's freedom, her ease. Hux could never consider this with anyone else, she's sure.

Hux presses her wet fingers into her slit, rubbing them in circles around her clit. Kylo moves her own fingers inside, stroking in gentle _come-hithers_. Its good, but Hux gets too used to it too fast.

"Harder, please," she requests perfectly politely. Kylo obeys readily, always listening, always giving Hux what she wants -- always holding back when and what Hux doesn't.

Kylo is as selfish and self-centered as they come -- but not here, not between them. Hux knows her girl. Knows where the persona ends and Kylo begins.

Hux strokes herself faster, pushing hard against the root of her clit. She can get off quicker if she's laying down, if she's alone, if she can tense her legs and belly in a certain way, if she holds her breath and clenches her teeth just as she feels it hitting.

"Fuck -- faster -- I need you to -- still hard."

She's going to feel this in the morning. She's going to be sore, she knows it. And it's... fine. She doesn't mind it -- she's almost excited for it; to feel it twinge deep in her gut while she's scrolling through endless pixels of infrared data and remember that Kylo is the reason for it -- and that Kylo will be home when she gets there -- hunched over her writing desk in the attic -- lamps draped with foolish silk scarves and her dressing robe sliding off her shoulder and --

Hux's gut twists with _something_ that feels raw and wrong-right and confusing. She's so incredibly _close_ it's like she's standing on the edge of a diving board with nothing holding her but her toes hooked over it. It's elusive, sliping away as soon as she stops holding her breath and lets her stomach relax.

Hux pushes her hips down, trying to grind herself against Kylo's palm, trying to get as much of Kylo's two thick fingers into her cunt as she can without asking for more. She hunches forward, stomach clenched tight and teeth tighter, palm pressed hard against her belly. Hux gasps, an alarmed little squeak escaping when she feels Kylo's forehead against hers and a big hand groping softly against her ribs.

 _Stars,_ Hux is seeing fucking stars she's so close. Her wrist aches almost as much as the deep tingle in her gut. The soles of her feet are on fire. Fingers locked with the effort, she slides them over the head of her clit, desperate for relief.

It's infuriatingly hard to get off with her head so full of bullshit. The poem. The house. Kylo and her ludicrous propensity for seeing right through Hux -- her mind-reading, X-ray personality -- high frequency and penetrative, dangerous -- more powerful than the lead curtain Hux feels like she's draped in.

The raw ravage of her chest makes sense in the endless seconds that orgasm finally hits.

Kylo is it.

No one, nothing, no where else has ever felt  _right_ and  _correct_ and  _in-sync_.

Even the sex. The stupid, messy, indulgent sex. Hux struggles to recall any partner she's actually truly  _wanted_ to fuck, to be fucked by. It's always felt like an obligation, something you just  _do_ when you're coupled up with someone to fill the time and space.

Everything about this ridiculous woman with her stained lips smeared on Hux's forehead and her fingers shoved up her cunt, working at just the pace Hux needs -- wants -- is so stupidly attractive.

The poem. _Fuck_ the fucking poem.

Something snaps, relaxes, releases and Hux is...

Her face is wet.

Why the  _fuck_ is her face wet? And are the loud, wretched sounds drowning out the opening jingle of the late-late talkshow coming from her?

Hux feels warm. Too warm. Warm and  _wet_. Droplets of it catch against the inside of her thighs and --  _oh._

It's bewildering, strange. Hux is horrified and she can't stop it. The squelching sounds of Kylo's hand working against her make Hux blush from the top of her head right down to her chest and  _shit_ everything that can get hard  _is_ and it  _hurts._

Exhausted, Hux sags against Kylo, neck bending back, held up pathetically with her forehead against Kylo's chin. There is a distant sound like a faucet that needs tightening when Kylo shifts her hand, so very gently withdrawing her fingers from Hux's body.

Hux feels herself being patted and hushed and she hates it. When her spine feels less like liquid she rolls off of Kylo, trying desperately not to let herself touch the couch.

Kylo looks shocked, gobsmacked. She's staring at her hands, one of them shiny and wet, fingers webbed with fluid. The couch between her legs is dark and damp and so are her thighs, diffuse patches of it in the denim. The glossy hardwood at her feet shines with a neat little splash. Her head turns slowly, gaze dragging from her hands to Hux's face.

Kylo looks just like she did when she celebrated winning some supposedly meaningless prize for her work. She'd bought a bottle of claret from an over-priced speciality shop and drank straight from the bottle all evening, journal clenched in the other hand while she shout-recited the book of verse from cover to cover at the paintings over the couch.

Hux couldn't tell if she was happy or disgusted with her rosy cheeks and glossy eyes and slack mouth anymore then than she can now.

"Hux," Kylo croaks and Hux can't stand it.

"I'm sorry," she says in a rush, hoisting herself up and awkwardly yanking her pants back up.

"Hux, I -- " 

Kylo reaches out, sock sliding into the splash on the floor when she moves. Hux twitches away. "Don't, please. I need air."

Kylo nods and sits back. Watching Hux with such a painfully gentle expression. Hux grabs for the first shirt she sees and nearly gags on the scent of Kylo's perfume and sweat when she pulls the sweater over her head. Kylo looks unreal sitting there with her fly undone and her wet hand and her tits sagging against the will of her mistreated bra.

"I'm going out to smoke," Hux announces. Kylo nods, no objection rising. Her hand hovers like she's not sure if she wants to lick it or wipe it against her thigh. Hux nearly slips, stepping on her abandoned camisole as she flees from behind the coffee table.

Outside, Hux clutches her coat tight around her body. She hunches away from the wind and it howls through the porch, licking frozen tongues up her back. Kylo's sweater swims around her shoulders underneath, her belly exposed by the short hem. Her suspenders fly wildly where they dangle around her legs, the wind sneaking right up under the heavy duster.

The first cigarette doesn't help. It's gone too fast and Hux is too focused on the cold. Even with her teeth chattering and her core trembling with it, the second is better. She feels calmer. Her head swims with the smoke and the cold.

Hux is embarrassed, she knows that. Cripplingly so. She's never done that before. She feels betrayed by her body. To be so completely exposed in front of Kylo is mortifying.

To be so exposed  _because_ of Kylo.

Hux drags carefully on her cigarette, trying to make it last, and hitches her shoulders up to keep her ears guarded in her turned-up collar. She squints out at the snowy front yard. The hedges in front are drooping under the weight of it. Everything left alive in the flower bed right below the porch is crushed. Under the sodium glow, the street has become totally covered again, no evidence of their cab left. Everything is silent.

Hux sniffs loudly just to hear something. She coughs and rubs her face against her sleeve. It's raw from the wind and the cold and the salty tear tracks on her cheeks.

What if, she thinks, Persephone has chosen her Hades? What if Hades has let herself be chosen?

She lets out a bit of a braying laugh and finishes the cigarette. She tamps the end out and flicks it into the snow with the other and with a measure of spite.

Hux will never tell Kylo that. She'll never say that out loud.

Her head is filled with deities and heavenly bodies and royalty and night and she paces the porch. It's too cold for this.

Hux heads back inside, stumbling against the pull of the wind to get the storm door shut and latched. The television is still on. The musical guest is performing some tired radio play single. The living room is empty. Hux's blouse and camisole are draped carefully over the armchair. The floor is clean. It looks like the cushions are flipped, the butt-dents not quite in the right spot. The crown is on the table beside the terrarium. Kylo is missing.

Hux calls her name and a quiet response comes from the kitchen. The nightlight is on, casting Kylo in deep contrast. Her socks are gone. She's righted her bra but her pants are still open. Her face is lit up in the semi-dark with the glow of her phone. The coffee maker is sputtering.

"Can I make you a cup?"

Hux shakes her head and shoves her hands under her arms, trying to warm them.

"It was fine, Hux. More than fine."

Hux crosses the tile floor to lean against the island beside Kylo. She gestures to the braid on the counter, coiled neatly into a freezer bag. "You're keeping that?"

"I haven't decided." Kylo pockets her phone, swiping away from her group chat. "Seems a waste." Her coffee finishes and she dumps half-and-half into the mug. "Hux -- "

"I think I'm going to bed."

"Alright."

Hux takes a breath, steeling herself. "If you feel like it, when you're finished, I wouldn't mind if you joined me."

Kylo leans in, kitten-soft and cheek-to-cheek. She takes a deep breath.

Kylo doesn't have to say anything.

Hux knows her girl.


End file.
